


It's Nothing (It's Something)

by MoraMew



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Bitter feelings, M/M, Pining, a little bit of smut, but love as well, i guess you could call it a happy ending, mentions of iwaoi pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 06:18:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12742692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoraMew/pseuds/MoraMew
Summary: Oikawa tastes like whiskey and, in the grand scheme of things, this probably doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before. It’s not like he cares.(He’s a goddamn liar)





	It's Nothing (It's Something)

**Author's Note:**

> idk. i wanted matsuoi and this is what my brain gave me.

It’s too cold outside and his cigarette has probably burnt out by now, ash on the ground and nicotine wasted. His coffee is probably getting cold, too, and he’s sure someone could walk by and see them at any second and he’s sure that this is only happening because Oikawa had one too many shots at the party and needs something to think about other than Iwaizumi.  
  
Oikawa tastes like whiskey and, in the grand scheme of things, this probably doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before. It’s not like he cares.  
  
(He’s a goddamn liar)  
  
Matsukawa brings his free hand up to cup Oikawa’s cheek and it’s cool to the touch, wet from where a tear or two has been spilled. That’s not new and the way Oikawa presses into his touch, kissing him deeper and nearly desperately, isn’t new either.  
  
He’s lost count of how many times this has happened.  
  
(Eighth time since the beginning of the year, fifth of the semester. Eleventh time over all. He’s been getting more needy lately. Matsukawa doesn’t think Oikawa’s talked to Iwaizumi in weeks now)  
  
A nip to Oikawa’s bottom lip, a smoothing of his thumb over his cheek. Another tear falls and it’s warm compared to the night air, easily smeared away. Matsukawa pulls away and slips his hand to cup Oikawa’s neck, thumbs across his skin.  
  
“Come on,” he tells him. “Let’s go to mine.”  
  
Oikawa swallows and his throat moves with the motion, eyes not meeting Matsukawa’s as he tries to hide a sniffle with a deep breath and nods.  
  
Matsukawa’s cigarette is burned to the filter when he checks. The shitty coffee he got from the gas station is cold. He chucks them both in the trash.  
  
They don’t talk as they step out of the alley and head to Matsukawa’s apartment. They never talk, really, when it’s like this. Just touch and kiss and grip each other a little too tight.  
  
(It hurts more that the chatterbox is silent now, that he can’t even hold up the front that he desperately clings to. Matsukawa’s too bitter, though, and it’s probably a good thing, the silence. He might say shit he’ll regret otherwise)  
(Shit like- “Just fucking let him go already. Stop using me. _Be with me._ I don’t want to do this only when you need to be distracted from your broken heart.” Stupid shit. Shit that he’s almost said outside of this a thousand times. Shit that will ruin things)  
(At least he gets him in these moments. Shouldn’t he be grateful?)  
(Fuck Oikawa. He’s such a dick.)  
(He’d still do anything for him, though.)  
  
It’s a short walk to Matsukawa’s apartment. Oikawa’s cheeks are still wet in the light of the elevator and his fingers are twitchy at his sides- continually flexing and curling into his palms before unfurling and then curling up again just seconds later.  
  
(He’s always loved Oikawa’s fingers. They’re elegant, pretty. Strong. Sometimes it feels like they bring fire when they brush over his skin)  
  
Out of the elevator, into his apartment. Still no talking. Oikawa rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes while Matsukawa locks the door behind them and Matsukawa waits until he drops his hands to step forward and grab him, push him against the door. He goes without a fight- he never fights back- and squeezes his eyes shut, curls his fingers into Matsukawa’s shirt tight.  
  
Pliant. Matsukawa could call him pliant with this- receptive, submissive, needy and desperate. Oikawa lets Matsukawa kiss him hard and rough, lets him pour out his own frustration into lip biting and hard grips that will leave bruises on Oikawa’s hips in the morning.  
  
(Oikawa’s never said a thing about the bruises or the way he aches after. Matsukawa’s never told him that he likes looking at them in the morning light, that it’s selfish how he marks him up, how sometimes he pretends that Oikawa is his and that he’s not a one night replacement)  
  
(He’s so fucking pathetic. Why does he let Oikawa do this to him?)  
(He knows why.)  
  
“Bed,” Matsukawa mumbles to him once Oikawa starts trembling, pressing his hips against him. “Come on.”  
  
He steps away and turns around, walks to his bedroom without a look back. He knows Oikawa will follow after him and he does, his breathing ragged and a bit too loud in the stillness of the hallway.  
  
When they get there, Oikawa pushes against his back and his teeth find Matsukawa’s ear, grazing over the shell before giving a bite. Matsukawa grunts and closes his eyes, pretends that it doesn’t affect him as much as it really does.  
  
(He pretends that he doesn’t feel guilty over letting Oikawa use him, that he doesn’t feel angry over it, that he doesn’t want to melt against Oikawa and let himself enjoy it- _really_ enjoy it)  
  
(He does, though, and he wants to. He’s so fucked over it all)  
  
Matsukawa steps away after Oikawa’s tongue traces over the shell of his ear and he turns, grabs Oikawa’s shirt and jerks him close so he can crash their mouths together. Teeth clatter and it’s a bruising kiss, rough and frustrated.  
  
(He wants to kiss him gently, for once. But Oikawa doesn’t want that. And Matsukawa is too scared over just how much more it will hurt if they get soft with each other)  
  
(Coward. He’s such a fucking coward)  
  
He digs his teeth into Oikawa’s bottom lip and tugs on it, pulls off and swallows when Oikawa’s fingers finds his belt. He doesn’t stop Oikawa from pulling it off and he doesn’t stop Oikawa from sinking to his knees.  
  
(He’s such a piece of shit. He shouldn’t let Oikawa do this. He should stop him)  
  
Matsukawa runs his hand through Oikawa’s hair and Oikawa pops open the button of his jeans, slides the zipper down. He doesn’t even blink when he pulls Matsukawa’s cock out, his face almost blank as he parts his lips and closes his eyes.  
  
(Oikawa’s never smiled when doing this. It makes his mouth turn sour when Matsukawa thinks about just how obvious it is that this probably isn’t something Oikawa truly _wants_ to do.)  
  
(Fucking bastard. Can’t he cope in some other way?)  
  
Oikawa takes him all the way down in one go, mouth hot and wet and sweet. He doesn’t have much of a gag reflex and it makes Matsukawa curl his fingers tight in thick brown hair, breathe heavily when Oikawa’s lips brush against his pelvis.  
  
(The bitter, mean part of him wants to call Oikawa a natural born slut. Sneers that this what he was made for- a pretty cocksucking bitch destined to always have a broken heart, chase after distraction by falling to his knees.)  
  
(Matsukawa hates that part of himself but sometimes it’s so easy to let it take over. He’s such a dick.)  
(Oikawa’s worse.)  
(No he’s not.)  
(Fuck.)  
  
He lets Oikawa suck him off how he likes, doesn’t do anything but tug on his hair every now and then and let out a few grunts, breathes a bit loudly when it feels really good.  
  
Neither of them are very vocal at this point. Later, Oikawa will be loud- will sob and whine and mewl and beg. But, for now, there’s just the wet sound of spit slicking over flesh, some quiet gagging noises, Matsukawa’s hitched breaths. It makes this feel a little more wrong, really. Makes it feel that much more dirty, lewd. Doesn’t help that Oikawa whimpers when Matsukawa pulls him off his cock. Doesn’t help that Oikawa whines when Matsukawa’s cock slips out of his mouth, when he tilts his head back and opens his mouth up wide, shows off perfect teeth and a pink tongue, lips starting to turn red and bruised and shiny.  
  
Doesn’t help that Oikawa’s eyes are both flat and wet, that he looks broken before they’ve even really started.  
  
Matsukawa takes a deep breath and reaches out to him- his friend, his partner in crime, his crush . He cups Oikawa’s cheek and then runs his hand through his hair, lets his eyes go half-shut when Oikawa presses into the touch and nuzzles, grabs his wrist and his hand and pushes them more firmly against him.  
  
(Oikawa’s always been so physical and yet Matsukawa has never met someone so touch starved)  
  
“Come on,” Matsukawa tells him, licking his lips after. “Let’s go to the bed.”  
  
Oikawa blinks and a tear falls, a nod follows after. Matsukawa helps him up and they stumble to the bed together, clinging and kissing and gripping each other hard.  
  
Clothes get shorn off and hands run over each other- both sets needy, both sets in search for something else, something more. Matsukawa bites at Oikawa and Oikawa scratches at him, whines high and breathy and from the back of his throat when Matsukawa slides one finger into him, two. Matsukawa doesn’t allow himself to draw it out and fucks Oikawa open with his fingers like he would any other one night stand.  
  
With less grace and courtesy, actually- if he’s being honest.  
  
(The second he lets himself be slow and thorough with this like he wants is the second it’s all over, he knows)  
  
When Matsukawa pushes into him, Oikawa throws his head back against the pillows and sobs his name and it’s so fucking _pretty_ the way he cries out-  
  
“ _I_ _ssei!_ Issei, _please_.”  
  
(He can pretend then, for just a moment, that Oikawa really wants him. He tells himself not to but his stupid fucking heart aches for the lie)  
  
Matsukawa fucks him and Oikawa clings to him, gorgeous and mewling and moaning and desperate with the way he claws down Matsukawa’s back and begs him _“harder, Issei, harder!”_ _  
_ _  
_ He fucks him harder, faster, however he likes. It gets rougher as they go and Matsukawa wraps his hand around Oikawa’s throat, chokes him so his lashes flutter and his breathing gets cut off. Oikawa clenches down around him tight when he does, sheds a few spare tears and begs him for more when he pulls his hand away.  
  
He gives him more. He gives him what he wants. He bites him and scratches him and digs his fingers into creamy, milky flesh so he’ll bruise. He goes until Oikawa is gasping for breath and clenching down tighter than a vice, his nails raking scarlet streaks down Matsukawa’s back and his long (perfect) legs wrapping around his waist.  
  
(They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle and that makes it all worse)  
  
Oikawa comes first- he always does. (Matsukawa loves staring down at his flushed face and watching his head tilt back, his mouth fall open with a moan) Matsukawa follows him after, snaps his hips rough and thrusts so Oikawa keens and sobs, shakes beneath him.  
  
He draws blood when he bites into his bottom lip to keep from groaning Oikawa’s name when he comes.  
  
He does that every time.  
  
Matsukawa breathes shakily and looks down at Oikawa, licks the beads of blood off his lips and runs his hand down Oikawa’s bite mark covered chest.  
  
(Matsukawa wants to cup Oikawa’s cheek and kiss him softly, mumble his name against his pretty lips and mumble even more- sweet things, soft things he’s wanted to say for years now. He wants to enjoy the flush on Oikawa’s cheeks and the drowsy look on his face, take in the way his body is finally relaxed, his stress and pain momentarily soothed. He can’t, though, and he hates that)  
  
(But, god, Oikawa’s so beautiful like this)  
  
Matsukawa takes a deep breath and then pulls out, tosses the condom in the trash and runs a hand through his hair. He wants to offer a shower but that seems too soft for what they’re doing so he just collapses next to Oikawa’s side naked and sweaty and smelling like Oikawa’s lingering cologne.  
  
He listens to Oikawa breathe roughly for a few moments and then it mellows out a bit. Oikawa rolls on his side, toward Matsukawa, and then his head gets buried into Matsukawa’s chest and his arm flops over Matsukawa’s side, one of his legs pushing to entwine through Matsukawa’s.  
  
(This is the part that hurts that most- the way that he clings and the way that he sighs softly against him, tired and sad and small. Matsukawa lets himself hold him a little but refuses to allow himself the luxury of kissing Oikawa’s hairline and nuzzling against him. He wants to- he wants to so _bad_ )  
  
Oikawa clings to him and Matsukawa closes his eyes and they both sleep without any words passed between them, their bodies close and their hearts far away.  


* * *

Morning. Matsukawa wakes up right after Oikawa does and keeps his eyes shut when Oikawa pulls away with a groan. He keeps them shut and waits a few moments, waits until the weight on the mattress shifts, and then lets them open.  
  
Oikawa’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over and his back curved, hands gripping at his hair. There’s scratches on his back and bruises too- shades of pewter and red coloring over his skin and lingering as reminders of their night. It’s beautiful to Matsukawa and he wants to run his lips over those marks, nip at them and pull Oikawa to him to give him more.  
  
(He doesn’t do it. He never does, no matter how badly he wants to)  
  
Matsukawa lays on his side and watches Oikawa; watches him breathe deep and silent, watches the way his ribs grow more prominent with each breath, watches the way his spine pops into focus when he curls into himself more, sags under the weight of his regret.  
  
(What a slap in the face it always is. This is why he can’t let himself pretend)  
  
Oikawa stays still and Matsukawa stays silent. Seconds pass, minutes pass. Five, ten, fifteen. Oikawa finally gets up and he doesn’t look at Matsukawa. He gathers his clothes from the floor and he doesn’t look at Matsukawa as he dresses. He doesn’t look at him when he pulls his shirt on, when he tugs on his briefs and his skinny jeans. He doesn’t look at him when he runs his hand over his hair or when he sits back down on the mattress.  
  
It takes a few more moments of silence before anything happens.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
(He always apologies. It always hurts.)  
  
Matsukawa takes a breath and finally sits up, scratches at his hair and then reaches for his cigarettes, lights one up.  
  
“Are you?”  
  
Oikawa stiffens and Matsukawa closes his eyes, rests his palm against his forehead and breathes in deep.  
  
Shit. He didn’t mean to say that out loud.  
  
Matsukawa sighs and takes a drag of his cigarette, licks his lips after he lets out a plume of smoke.  
  
“It’s fine. It’s always fine,” he tells him, mouth sour and body tired. “You can make some coffee if you really want to make it up to me.”  
  
(Always got to keep it light, always got to shift it to joking. This is better than nothing, right? It’s going to hurt like a bitch if he loses it once he’s gotten a taste of him)  
  
Oikawa huffs and it’s tired but it’s there and it’s better than just silence and him not putting out the effort for a front. Oikawa turns to the side and angles his face so Matsukawa can’t see his puffy eyes, licks his lips.  
  
“You know I can’t make coffee worth shit, Mattsun,” Oikawa mutters to him. “Let’s go to The Nest. I’ll buy you breakfast.”  
  
“What a generous lay,” Matsukawa tells him, sarcastic just a bit and mostly teasing. “Will the Great Oikawa-san be alright going out looking like like what the cat dragged in or do you wanna borrow the shower?”  
  
Oikawa huffs again and it’s less tired now, working toward his normal morning peevishness. He looks over at Matsukawa and breathes in deep, pushes his hand through his hair and sighs.  
  
“It’s fine,” Oikawa grumbles, lips pushing into a small pout. (Matsukawa loves his pouts; his lips are so stupidly pretty when they push out like that) “I’ll just have to wear dirty clothes again after.”  
  
“You can borrow some of mine.”  
  
The offer leaves him as soon as it pops into his head and Matsukawa freezes a little, hurriedly places his cigarette in his mouth to try to cover his apprehension.  
  
(Shit. _Shit_. Friends borrow each other’s clothes though, right? It’s no big deal. He won’t know. Oikawa’s worn his clothes before)  
(Just not under these circumstances. Shit. _Shit_.)  
  
He doesn’t look at Oikawa but he knows Oikawa’s looking at him, knows his head is tilted and his eyes are sharp, analytical as they take in the way Matsukawa breathes in deep, exhales a cloud of smoke.  
  
He waits and he smokes and Oikawa finally hums, gets Matsukawa flicking his gaze to him.  
  
“Okay,” Oikawa tells him, too casual and breezy to really be so. He’s not looking at him but out the window, hiding any smile or frown or show of his thoughts on the matter. “Yeah. I’ll do that.”  
  
Matsukawa blinks and Oikawa moves before he can begin to process the words. He slinks over to Matsukawa’s dresser and starts rifling through it, ignores the way Matsukawa watches him in near disbelief. Oikawa leaves when pleased with his outfit choice and ashes fall onto Matsukawa’s covers, finally dropping from where he’s been too surprised to tap them in a tray.  
  
This is new. It’s not going to change things but it’s new. Everything was new at some point, though- he’s sure he’ll get used to it.  
  
(Fuck, his heart is beating a bit too fast. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing.)  
(He wants it to be something. It has to be something. Surely it’s something. Oikawa knows it’s more than just a friend lending clothes- he’s too sharp not to realize it.)  
(Fuck. _Fuck_ )  
  
Matsukawa stabs his cigarette out on his tray and runs his hands through his hair, closes his eyes as he breathes in deep.  
  
He needs a shower too.  
  
He should wait until Oikawa’s done.  
  
(He’s always loved Oikawa in the shower, though. The way water rolls down his skin, how it clings to his lashes...it’s good. It’s _so_ good. He can’t count how many times he’s had to avert his eyes in the locker room, clench his hands into fists so he wouldn’t touch himself)  
  
Matsukawa licks his lips and glances out his open bedroom door, listens to the shower running. The clock says it’s just past ten when he checks and it’s bright out, some birds flitting past his window and traffic stirring on the streets before. He has another cigarette and tries to ignore the feelings twisting in his stomach, the way his heart is beating out of pattern.  
  
Nothing is nothing is nothing. It didn’t mean anything the first time Oikawa kissed him. It didn’t mean anything the first time Oikawa fell to his knees for him. It didn’t mean anything the first time they fucked or the second or the third or the fourth. This means nothing.  
  
(Please mean something. His heart probably can’t take much more.)  
  
Ten minutes pass and then Oikawa walks in, hair wet and wearing Matsukawa’s favorite sweater, a pair of his boxers and the novelty socks Oikawa got him for his eighteenth birthday. His jeans are draped over his arm and his clothes are bunched in the crook of his other arm and Matsukawa can see the bruises he bit into his thighs the night before and it’s so fucking _much_ seeing him in his clothes like this.  
  
He doesn’t know if he can pretend that this means nothing to him with Oikawa standing in his room, wearing his clothes and carrying his marks and looking like everything he’s wanted since he was seventeen.  
  
“Mattsun, your shower sucks,” Oikawa whines, huffing as he walks over and plops on the bed. “How do you live like this?”  
  
“Not all of us can afford studios in the nice part of town,” Matsukawa shoots back, mouth automatic and words feeling weird in his mouth as he forces his gaze away. “You didn’t use all the hot water, right?”  
  
Oikawa just hums and that means he totally fucking did so Matsukawa just fakes a huff and stands, gathers up his own clothes and leaves before he’s caught staring at Oikawa.  
  
If frustrated tears fill his eyes in the shower a little, no one will know.  
  
(Idiot. Idiot. Why does he do this to himself? He’s fucking pathetic. Like Oikawa’s ever going to get his head out of Iwaizumi’s ass. Like Matsukawa could ever be good enough to replace him)  
  
(He’s so bitter that he’s angry over one of his best friends. He’s so bitter that he’s jealous and tired and jaded. Why can’t he just be free from this shit?)  
  
He showers and he brushes his teeth- fucking Oikawa used his toothbrush- and he combs his hair, spends a few minutes staring at himself in the mirror and questioning what he’s doing with his life.  
  
He gets dressed once he drags himself from self-pity, leaves the bathroom and finds Oikawa waiting for him on his bed. Oikawa’s eyes are a little red and his smile is definitely a bit forced, tired and faded when he looks at Matsukawa.  
  
“Come on,” Matsukawa tells him. “You owe me breakfast. Should probably owe me lunch too considering how hard I made you come last night.”  
  
Oikawa rolls his eyes but crawls out of the bed, tosses Matsukawa his keys when he asks and then his phone. When they leave the room, Oikawa starts talking about some movie trailer he watched while Matsukawa was showering and keeps talking about it until they step outside of his building. It’s some kind of scifi flick and sounds cheesy as hell, sounds likes something Oikawa would be crazy over.  
  
(Fucking dork. Fucking cute _dork_. God, how could Matsukawa be blamed for being so head over heels for him?)  
  
“I want to go to it,” Oikawa says, bumping his shoulder into Matsukawa’s and grabbing his attention from a string of texts Hanamaki sent him last night. (All telling him he’s a fucking idiot for letting Oikawa keep dragging him into his bullshit)  
  
(He knows. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him that)  
  
Matsukawa glances up and over at Oikawa, almost inhales too sharp at the way the sun is falling over his face- golden and warm and casting light to show off long lashes and high cheekbones.  
  
(It makes him dizzy. Oikawa is way too gorgeous for the world and it’s not fair. It’s just not _fair_.)  
  
“Go see it then,” Matsukawa tells him, maybe a beat too late. He turns his head forward and lengthens his stride, has Oikawa huffing after him. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”  
  
“I don’t want to go alone,” Oikawa whines to him. He catches up to Matsukawa easily and brushes close to him, pushing against him in a way that can’t possibly be accidental. “No one is going to want to go.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll find someone,” Matsukawa reassures him, maybe a bit dryly, mouth maybe going a bit sour with the words.  
  
(If Oikawa starts fucking around with someone else at this point, Matsukawa doesn’t think he could handle the heartache. It might be a good thing, maybe. It might be the thing that should happen. The thing that he should want to happen.)  
  
(He’s tired of this. He should let Oikawa go.)  
  
Oikawa huffs and bumps against his shoulder again, arm moving so their hands brush against one another’s. Matsukawa almost jumps but tenses instead, elation and then cold uncertainty running through him when Oikawa’s fingers lace loosely through his.  
  
(What the fuck? What the _fuck_? He’s not pulling this soft shit now. He can’t be. That’s not fair. He can't _do_ this)  
  
“Go with me,” Oikawa tells Matsukawa. He’s not asking or offering but ordering, his voice determined and his hand warm. “Let’s go together.”  
  
(He should say no. He should definitely say no. This is only going to lead to trouble and his heart breaking more. It’s only going to lead to more sleepless nights and too much anger and not enough self-control and _he should say no._ )  
  
(But it’s Oikawa and he’s asking and his hand is so fucking warm and Matsukawa’s so tired and he wants to pretend, wants some fucking softness and time with the person he’s loved since high school without it being whiskey drenched and used to distract Oikawa from his loneliness)  
  
(He can’t do this)  
(He wants to do this)  
(Oikawa is going to hurt him in the end)  
(He’s already hurting. Why not do it? It’s better than sitting around twiddling his thumbs and waiting for Oikawa to call him so he can pick his ass up from some bar or party)  
  
(Fuck. _Fuck_ )  
  
“Issei?”  
  
Matsukawa swallows and Oikawa holds his hand tighter, tugs on it until he glances over.  
  
He still looks tired. His eyes are still red and still puffy. He’s not even faking a smile now but looking at Matsukawa with something determined and almost vulnerable, something the tiniest bit scared in the way his lips press together and his teeth grit to tighten his jaw.  
  
He looks beautiful.  
  
(He shouldn’t believe that Oikawa wants something more than what they’ve been doing but it sure as hell _looks_ like it and his heart can’t help beating with a fragile hope that his mind scoffs at him for)  
  
(Matsukawa’s so fucked. He _hates_ Oikawa)  
(He loves him)  
  
“Okay,” Matsukawa tells him, swallowing after and looking back ahead. He squeezes Oikawa’s hand and Oikawa squeezes it back and the world suddenly looks a little bit brighter, feels a bit more uncertain. “I’ll go with you.”  
  
(Idiot. He’s such a fucking idiot)  
  
Matsukawa breathes deep and smiles faintly, listens to Oikawa chatter on about the movie and times and all he wants to do that night.  
  
It doesn’t mean anything, this. Probably doesn’t. Won’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He doesn’t care about it. Even if it changes things for a while, it’ll shift back to where it was again or make them drift from one another.  
  
It’s nothing.  
  
(It’s something.)

**Author's Note:**

> this could have been longer and more expanded upon but it's 5:30 in the morning and i wrote this in like three hours and i need to do my own trawling through the tag and i'm just too lazy to make this a long thing
> 
> Come say hi and hello on [my tumblr](https://moramew.tumblr.com/)~


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